


Need to Know

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [12]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, in which grantaire and enjolras navigate the dangers of relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Grantaire,” Enjolras starts, but Grantaire just laughs again.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Apollo, you’re in the clear. Have fun trying to save the world.”</p><p>Musichetta and Combeferre exchange a look that says, very clearly, this is going to be a long week, even as Enjolras tries again, only for Grantaire to cut him off.</p><p>“Seriously,” he says, looking and sounding very much like he wants to drop the subject. “We’re not a couple, and you don’t have to tell me anything.”</p><p>The silence in the café feels like a weight at the pit of Enjolras’ stomach. Especially when Grantaire slips out without saying goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need to Know

They should know it can’t last. Things are just going too smoothly. Since the toothbrush incident they’ve been comfortable and at ease with one another, falling asleep with fingers tangled in fingers and noses tucked into hair. Their arguments are small, trivial; maybe they’re tiptoeing around each other, maybe they just get _along_ , but either way, the shouting gives way to kisses ranging from careful to fierce and they don’t fall asleep angry, just close.

Grantaire is, as per usual, blogging during the meeting that week, but he nearly drops his computer when Enjolras stands, running a hand through his hair, and says, “And just a reminder that I’ll be gone all next week, so Combeferre and Musichetta will be running things in my absence—”

“You’re _what_ , now?” Cosette demands, frowning, before looking at Grantaire, whose expression is unreadable.

Enjolras frowns, turning to them. Cosette and Marius are wearing twin looks of confusion and frustration, and he can’t decipher a damn thing in Grantaire’s face. Bahorel and Feuilly are also surprised, though they stay silent, Bahorel’s eyes on Cosette to see her reaction and Feuilly’s on Grantaire. “I’m spending the week shadowing at the Amnesty International office in DC. Did you not know?” Five simultaneous “no”s are met with a raised eyebrow from Enjolras and a sharp look from Combeferre, directed at their fearless leader. “Oh.”

He turns to Grantaire as if anticipating an argument, but Grantaire’s face is impassive, and Marius cuts in with, “You all knew?”

Jehan, sitting comfortably in Courfeyrac’s lap, nods, looking a bit nervous, and Courfeyrac snakes his arms around his boyfriend’s middle. “I did,” he confesses, hooking his chin over Jehan’s shoulder.

Eponine and Combeferre nod, and for the first time since the topic has come up at all Grantaire’s face betrays emotion—something akin to desperation—as he turns to Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, who all nod.

Then his expression is unreadable again, and he stares resolutely at the wall behind Enjolras, just above his left shoulder. “I told the people who needed to know,” Enjolras is explaining, and Marius, of all people, reaches behind Cosette to curl his hand around the back of Grantaire’s arm. “I assumed they’d tell anyone who didn’t know.”

Of course, there’s no apology in there; he probably doesn’t even realize that there’s anything deserving of an apology that’s happened, and he doesn’t notice the way Grantaire closes his eyes briefly at “people who needed to know.”

“Your boyfriend didn’t need to know?” Cosette drawls, and Grantaire finally shifts his attention from the wall behind Enjolras to clap a hand on Cosette’s leg and grin.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he explains, his voice light, but he’s not fooling anyone and Enjolras finally seems to realize that something’s wrong. He opens his mouth to speak but Grantaire’s still speaking, saying, “I didn’t need to know, it’s fine.”

“Not your boyfriend?” Musichetta says, frowning, leaning forward in her chair—her maternal instinct is so strong that Grantaire can practically feel her concern radiating off of her.

“Sex isn’t a relationship,” he answers with a vague shrug, and he does whatever he can to avoid Enjolras’ eyes. “If it was do you know how many exes I would have? More than _Courfeyrac._ ”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras starts, but Grantaire just laughs again.

“Don’t worry, Apollo, you’re in the clear. Have fun trying to save the world.”

Musichetta and Combeferre exchange a look that says, very clearly, _this is going to be a long week,_ even as Enjolras tries again, only for Grantaire to cut him off.

“Seriously,” he says, looking and sounding very much like he wants to drop the subject. “We’re not a couple, and you don’t have to tell me anything.”

The silence in the café feels like a weight at the pit of Enjolras’ stomach. Especially when Grantaire slips out without saying goodbye.

\------

 **Enjolras:** I think I left my jacket at your apartment. Mind if I drop by to get it later tonight?

\------

Courfeyrac lets Enjolras into the apartment, his brow furrowed and his eyes worried. Enjolras’ gaze sweeps over the living room, the kitchen, the open door of the bathroom, and simply nods at Courfeyrac before stepping into Grantaire’s bedroom.

“Is he home?” Enjolras asks, his voice soft, and Courfeyrac coughs.

“No. He’s still out with Bahorel and Cosette. I think Feuilly’s joining them after work; they’ll be out for a while. Enjolras…”

“Right, thank you. Let him know I got what I needed?”

If there’s a double meaning in those words it’s not intended, but it doesn’t keep Courfeyrac from frowning with concern. “Enjolras, listen, I think—”

Enjolras’ face is plain and he would look almost vulnerable if not for the ever-present fire in his eyes. “Yes?”

“You should have told him.”

“He didn’t need to know.”

“He’s your _boyfriend._ ”

With a raised eyebrow, Enjolras gestures grandly at Grantaire’s messed bed. “Haven’t you heard? Sex isn’t a relationship.” He lets out a sharp laugh, sharp enough that Courfeyrac retreats into his bedroom and doesn’t come back out until he’s leaving to go spend the night with Jehan.

Enjolras waits.

He considers leaving a note, but he honestly doesn’t understand the problem and at this point it seems like the best way to fix it would be to talk to Grantaire directly, limiting the chances for miscommunication—because that’s exactly what they _don’t_ need—and so he’s still awake, stretched out on his side on Grantaire’s bed with a text book open in front of him and a highlighter cap between his teeth, when Grantaire walks in.

Grantaire reeks of alcohol and cigarette smoke and he actually starts with surprise when Enjolras speaks, though he recovers quickly. “Apollo!” he crows, sweeping his shirt over his head. “Fancy meeting you here. Alone in my apartment. I think that’s how most horror movies start. Don’t you have a class tomorrow morning?”

It’s hard to tell if Enjolras is angrier than he is concerned, but either way he swallows hard and sits up, capping his highlighter again. “Yes,” he says slowly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Grantaire’s bare side, along his ribs, and Grantaire laughs bitterly.

“I told you not to worry about it.”

“What?”

“You only get like that when you’re worried you’ve pushed someone too far. I told you, it’s fine.”

“If you’d just tell me what it is that’s bothering you, we can work it out and I can be sure not to do it again,” Enjolras says, starting to get truly angry now, and Grantaire laughs again.

“I’ll be fine, Apollo. You _worry_ too much.” Grantaire grins, and the grin is angry and hurt and bitter but also strangely satisfied, as if he’s been waiting for this.

Enjolras opens his mouth as if to speak before simply closing it. “Okay,” he says through gritted teeth, and he picks up his textbook and highlighter to drop into his bag. Grantaire frowns, and for a moment it hangs between them like overripe fruit on a branch ( _Did I go too far?_ they’re both wondering, and neither of them have the answer).

“Apollo—”

“I’ll text you when I get there. Goodnight, Grantaire.”

Enjolras walks to the door as slowly as he can without seeming suspicious, but when Grantaire doesn’t come out of his room to try and stop him he simply slams the door behind him.

\------

 **Grantaire:** yr jacket is still here

\------

Combeferre and Eponine drive Enjolras to the airport Friday afternoon, and the entire drive there he sits with his phone in his lap and his eyes fixed firmly out the window. It’s a four-hour flight, and he’s got enough to keep him occupied once he’s there, but for right now, while he’s still in the state, he’s waiting.

This shouldn’t bother him, but it does, it _does_ , and Enjolras is acutely aware of the fact that the jeans he pulled on this morning weren’t his, and that the blazer he shoved into his bag at the last minute when he couldn’t find his belongs to Grantaire. He doesn’t comment on how empty his bed will be this week. He feels it, though, right in the pit of his stomach, where the weight and the worry had been.

When they get to the airport, Combeferre hugs Enjolras tightly. “I think,” he says quietly, in that way of his—gentle and careful but firm, so firm and strong Enjolras could use these words to stand on, “you’re both on the same page. You’re just not realizing it.”

Before Enjolras can respond Combeferre’s clapping him on the shoulder and stepping aside to let Eponine throw her arms around her best friend, and they stand there, hugging tightly, for a minute before she steps back, holding him at arm’s length.

“You have everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone? Chargers? Laptop? Socks? Underwear? Deodorant? Razor? Notebook? The booklet they sent you?”

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Enjolras kisses her on the cheek and steps back, pretending not to notice when she shoves something into the pocket of his jeans.

It’s only when he’s going through the security checkpoint that he shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out the small square of paper. Photo paper. He unfolds it once he’s passed through, and it’s him with Grantaire at the Musain, caught by one of their friends when he hadn’t been expecting it, the two of them sitting on the sofa Grantaire always claims, listening to Musichetta talk. Enjolras is practically in Grantaire’s lap, Grantaire’s hand resting on his hip and covered by Enjolras’. Enjolras is focused on Musichetta, but Grantaire’s watching him, a small smile playing at his lips.

On the back, in Eponine’s familiar looping handwriting, are scribbled the words _Call him._

He has to clear his throat twice before he can fold the photograph up again and shove it into his pocket, but he manages, and then he’s on the plane.

He doesn’t unfold the photo, but he does keep it sitting on his tray, the booklet open beside it, and when the plane experiences turbulence his hand immediately closes around it.

\------

 **Enjolras:** I’m in DC. The flight was a little bumpy but otherwise fine. Call me if you need anything.

\------

“Are you two ever apart?”

The words are exasperated but fond, and Eponine snorts loud enough for Enjolras to hear it over the phone. “You’re lucky I’m here now,” she says, turning the page of her Developmental Psych textbook. “If I wasn’t, we’d just be having phone sex now, and neither of us would have answered.” Combeferre is stretched out next to her, copying notes over from his laptop into a notebook, and on the other line Enjolras coughs, probably to hide his laughter. “What’s up? How’s DC?”

“It’s great,” Enjolras says, and they can practically hear him smiling. “I’m working with someone from the London office, actually. Her name is Kiran Chadha and we’ve spent the past few days practically attached at the hip.”

“You’re running around getting her coffee and dry cleaning?” Combeferre guesses dryly, and Enjolras’ _yes_ is so excited that Combeferre and Eponine both laugh out loud.

“It’s not just that. I mean, I do whatever she asks, but she’s helping me get better acquainted with the organizational end of Amnesty, getting me in touch with the people I’d be working with if I join after I graduate—and I mean, this is a very serious contender for ‘dream career’.”

“It’s the only contender,” Eponine points out, and Enjolras laughs. After a moment, she clears her throat. “Have you called Grantaire?” He hesitates, and Eponine’s whine of “ _Enjolras!_ ” is truly impressive.

“He texted me when I got here and I— _shit,_ ” he hisses. “Listen, I’ll call you back later, alright? _Fuck._ Combeferre, email me everything you’ve got planned for the meeting? Eponine, I’ll—”

“Shut up and _call him_ —”

There’s a slight click and the call ends, and Eponine grins up smugly at Combeferre, holding her hand out expectantly. With a grumble Combeferre fishes his wallet out of his pocket to slap a ten dollar bill into his girlfriend’s hand before sliding an arm around her waist and dragging her closer so he can kiss her. Their textbooks end up forgotten, pushed over and off the bed as Eponine pushes him onto his back so she can sit back and straddle his hips, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it aside.

\------

 **Grantaire:** hows dc?

 **Grantaire:** ur going to move out there forever, i can feel it now

 **Grantaire:** anyway alright have a good time call if u can

 **Grantaire:** or don’t whatever just kno that u have the option

 **Enjolras:** Shit. I thought I’d responded to these sooner. Like, days ago, sooner. I got so caught up in everything. I’ve got a dinner I have to go to but I’ll call you when I get back.

\------

At dinner, one of the other students at the conference asks Enjolras if he’s seeing anyone in a manner that very clearly suggests that if he’s not, she’ll gladly rectify that, and out of habit Enjolras answers “I’ve got a boyfriend back home.”

After the initial surprise from some of the other students (one actually says he’d never have imagined that Enjolras is gay, and Enjolras has to suppress a snort of laughter at that) there are the standard questions of how did they meet, how long have they been together, and for the first time since this has all started Enjolras feels like a liar.

Because he’s been calling Grantaire his boyfriend whenever anyone’s asked since they started, without thinking about it, without bothering to check and see if they’re on the same page with all of this, but he calls Grantaire his boyfriend again tonight and it tastes like a falsehood on his tongue.

\------

Grantaire’s phone is sitting on his bedside table where he’d forgotten it, which is why there’s a woman writing her phone number on his palm in permanent marker before sliding off her stool at the bar.

As soon as she’s gone he wets his napkin in Cosette’s glass of water and works to scrub it off.

Boyfriend or not, Grantaire is as much Enjolras’ as he is his own, and that’s not going to change any time soon.

He’s so tired when he gets home that he doesn’t bother to check his phone.

\------

“Hey, R, it’s, ah, it’s me. And you’re not picking up. Alright. Well, DC is great, but too warm. I hope things are going well at home. Um. Call me. I’m… shit, I’m busy all day tomorrow and Thursday, and I’m flying home Friday anyway. Just. Just call me.”

\------

They don’t talk tomorrow. Or Thursday. Friday morning, Grantaire sends another text, but Enjolras is in offices all day, running back and forth and shaking hands and smiling. He and Kiran get lunch together and she says that she expects that in a couple of years, once he’s graduated, he’ll make an excellent addition to the Amnesty International team; he blushes, actually blushes, as he thanks her.

Musichetta and Combeferre have been running things well in his absence, it seems. They sent him an email the night before, after the meeting, and things were going smoothly—there was even a picture attached, and Enjolras most definitely did _not_ search Grantaire out the moment he saw it. The disappointment that Grantaire went evne when he wasn’t there was strange and mild and easily overcome but it had been there, and that took some getting used to.

Enjolras is exhausted, though, in part because he’s been doing so much (and how he loves this, the opportunity to see what it is he’d be doing in five years’ time, especially since he’s never really been able to picture himself past twenty-two before now) but also in part because he’s not used to sleeping alone.

He misses Eponine, he misses Combeferre, he misses Courfeyrac, he misses Jehan. He misses Musichetta and her boys, and Cosette and Marius, and Bahorel and Feuilly.

He misses Grantaire.

Tuesday night he’d stopped by a drug store to pick up ibuprofen to try and fight off a headache before it got too bad and he’d ended up buying a pack of the cigarettes Grantaire smokes to try and get the familiar taste back in his mouth. It’s not the same without the rough brush of stubble against his jaw but it’s enough for now.

\------

 **Grantaire:** hey so if u want to do something when u get back i have plans with bahorel and cosette but i should b available around 11ish

 **Grantaire:** if u need someone to get you from the airport lemme know

 **Grantaire:** travel safely

\------

The week has been long and exhausting and quite frankly Grantaire was done with it before Friday rolled around. Eponine and Combeferre are off for the weekend to meet Combeferre’s parents—they’re going to see Beethoven’s third symphony performed by some famous orchestra or another. Grantaire had stopped paying attention when he figured out that they weren’t going to pick Enjolras up from the airport.

Jehan’s on his way now, with Courfeyrac. They’d offered to bring Grantaire with them but Enjolras hasn’t texted him back and it seems like it might be a better idea to wait. He’s going out with Bahorel and Cosette and Marius in a few anyway. Feuilly will join them later and if Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet stop insisting on having date night maybe they’ll come too.

It will be great. It will be fine. Things will go back to normal.

Enjolras won’t know how many times Grantaire had to stop himself from calling him, how  Grantaire’s practically memorized the voicemail Enjolras left him, or that the only reason Grantaire has refrained from getting truly drunk is the fear that he’ll send Enjolras something he shouldn’t.

Before he leaves, he makes sure to set arrange _it_ just so, so that Enjolras can’t miss it, because he sure as fuck can’t talk about his feelings because that would be the worst decision he’s ever made, but he can do this.

It had been Marius’ idea, even. As much as he rags on Marius, Grantaire’s got to admit he’s a good kid, and he knows his shit. He’d dropped by for a quick visit between classes, and as he was leaving, he hesitated at Grantaire’s door.

“He probably feels like you don’t care or don’t want this,” Marius had said slowly. “And he’s wrong, of course, but it can’t hurt to remind the people that you love that you love them.”

So simple, so clear, but so _right._ And so Grantaire turns off the lights behind him and makes a mental note to buy Marius a drink if this works.

\------

Jehan throws himself at Enjolras as soon as he sees him, looking tired but generally happy, and after hugging one another tightly and the series of kisses Jehan presses to Enjolras’ face, Courfeyrac nudges his boyfriend aside to hug Enjolras.

“We missed you,” he declares, and Enjolras grins.

“It’s good to be back,” he says simply, letting Jehan pry his laptop case out of his hand so the poet can lace their fingers together. Courfeyrac takes his other bag and hands him a coffee, which Enjolras takes gratefully, letting out a soft “thank you” before practically inhaling it. Once he’s taken a long drink, he peers over the edge of the cup. “How’s R?”

Courfeyrac and Jehan practically fall over each other speaking.

“He’s miserable.”

“He misses you so much it’s frightening.”

“It’s not that he’s acting differently—”

“—more like he’s acting how he was before you two got together—”

“—he’s spent the entire week locked away in his room. He leaves to pee and go out drinking with Bahorel.”

“Sometimes he holds it until he goes out.”

“He misses you.”

Jehan looks at Enjolras expectantly, and Enjolras avoids his eyes. “Do you want us to take you home?”

Enjolras nods, aching for the comfort of a bed he can share with someone else.

\------

He can’t make it to the bed, though he wouldn’t want to, since there’s no one else in it. Which, to be fair, he expected. Grantaire only ever comes to his bed when invited directly.

Jehan peeks into the apartment, squeaks, and then immediately bolts out to find Courfeyrac. When Enjolras frowns, asking for an explanation, Jehan just shakes his head and tugs Courfeyrac after him back to the car.

“Holy…”

It starts in the kitchen, a series of five cupcakes spelling out “SORRY”. There’s a sixth underneath them with an arrow pointing into the den—Enjolras sets his bags down and picks the “S” up, biting into it, before moving into the den, where he finds more photographs like the one in his pocket.

There’s them standing in the snow, pressed so close it looks like they’re sharing a jacket as they stand underneath a lamp post outside the Musain (taped to the coffee table). Grantaire watching Enjolras almost proudly as he gives a presentation of one of his papers (left on the seat of the sofa). Dozens of photographs, ones Enjolras hadn’t even realized existed, scattered across his furniture, and a bright pink sticky note attached to the door of his bedroom.

 _Like. Really sorry,_ the note reads, and Enjolras finishes the last of the cupcake and pushes his door open, and there, leaned against the pillow, is a drawing.

It’s of Enjolras, naked, his back curved gracefully, like a comma, and his hair a mess around him. Enjolras lifts the drawing and flushes when he sees that Grantaire has drawn every last inch of him faithfully, down to the hair trailing from his navel to his groin, the scar on his side from some accident or another as a child. But it’s not just Enjolras, it’s Enjolras curled around Grantaire, legs tangled together with a hand fisted in Grantaire’s curls and Grantaire’s hand cured around his side.

Then there’s one last note: _I missed you._

Enjolras barely remembers to grab his car keys from where he’d left them on his dresser before he’s bolting out of the apartment.

\------

There’s someone tall and attractive leaning forward to talk to Grantaire, who looks generally disinterested in the flirting. Still, Enjolras doesn’t waste any time in crossing the bar, pushing through the people between him and the artist sitting at the bar.

“Excuse me,” he says, pushing between them, and he catches a Grantaire’s complete surprise before he’s taking the drink from his hand, setting it down, and kissing him so hard their teeth knock together.

Grantaire instantly grabs hold of Enjolras’ blazer—which is really his blazer—to pull him closer, sliding off the bar stool to press against him as Enjolras takes his face in both hands. Whoever it was that had been flirting with him before makes a sound of irritation and moves away, but they don’t care.

When Enjolras pulls back, the look of happy shock on Grantaire’s face makes his chest ache, and he smooths his fingers across Grantaire’s forehead and brushes his hair away. “You need to know,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire’s eyes widen further. Enjolras leans forward to kiss his eyebrow, his cheek, his jaw, just below his mouth. “You need to know. I should have told you.”

His hands move down along Grantaire’s arms and he laces their fingers together tightly as Grantaire clears his throat. “You don’t need to tell me anything,” he protests, and Enjolras shakes his head, kissing Grantaire again as he deposits Grantaire’s hands on his hips.

“You need to know,” he repeats for the third time, his mouth on Grantaire’s, and the tense ball of anxiety in his chest starts to unravel as Grantaire’s lips curl up against his. “Let’s go home. I want to tell you about Washington.”

**Author's Note:**

> wow wow wow gosh you all just manage to get lovelier with every passing day, and ENDLESS thanks to Chesh, Kaitlyn, Emily, Lily, and Elizabeth for their help <3
> 
> anyway WOW gorgeous artstuffs and graphics  
> -http://wholelottaductape.tumblr.com/post/46358455221/so-i-don-t-know-how-to-call-this-it-s-supposed  
> -http://goodlookingmexicansidekick.tumblr.com/post/45837551588/hes-a-little-gruff-and-he-smells-vaguely-of  
> -http://martinaellysmith.tumblr.com/post/45706985823/to-think-at-the-sun  
> -http://kajainthesky.tumblr.com/post/45622894446/this-is-so-cheesy-its-not-going-on-the-artblog
> 
> there was even COSPLAY  
> -http://unhookingthestars.tumblr.com/post/46120017139/sooooo-i-got-drunk-before-a-proper-photo-could-be
> 
> Kiss at the end was based on THIS: http://jen-suis.tumblr.com/post/43354449184/ummm-so-because-duskjolras-drabbles-mainly-based
> 
> Fun stuffs: there will be several more AUs coming from me in the next few weeks, including a zombie apocalypse AU with Elizabeth and Kaitlyn, and a role-reversal canon!era AU with Elizabeth that we've already started. So keep an eye out for those!
> 
> The full resolution to this is from a drabble I wrote a couple months back, and I'll post that in the drabbles in the next couple of days.
> 
> <3 You're lovely and I adore you and if you want to make graphics or playlists or art or any of that please link me! I also track my URL's tag (duskjolras) as well as "talk revolution to me baby" and "trtmb" on Tumblr.
> 
> Kisses for everyone I adore you all!!!


End file.
